“Spake out, what is it?” “Ahem!” commenced Tim; “you see, sir (aside), I’ll be even wid you for that kick, you thief of the world—­you see, Paddy (bad manners to him) and the rest o’ the boys, was thinking that, owing to the change o’ climate, Master Richard—­that is, his new riverence—­has gone through by rason of laving England and comin’ here—­and mighty could, no doubt, he was on the journey—­be praised he’s safe—­the boy, sir, was thinkin’, masther dear, it was nothing but their duty, and what was due to the family, to ax your honour’s opinion about their takin’ the smallest taste of whiskey in life, jist to be drinking his riverence’s Masther Richard’s health, and”—­“Success to him!” shouted the chorus at the door.  “That’s it!” said the masther.  “And nothing but it!” responded the chorus.  “Nelly, my jewel! take the kays and give them anything in dacency!” “Hurrah! smiling good luck to you, for ever and afther!” “That’ll do, boys! but stay:  it’s Terence Conway’s wedding night—­it’s a good tenant he’s been to me—­take the sup down there, and you’ll get a dance; now be off, you devils!”

“Many thanks to your honour!” chorused the delighted group; and “I done that iligant, anyhow,” muttered the gratified, successful, and, therefore, forgiving orator.  “I’ll try again.  Ahem! wouldn’t the young gentlemen just step down for a taste?” “By all manes!” was chimed at once; their hats were mounted in a moment, and off they set.

Terence Conway’s farm was soon reached; the barn affording the most accommodation for the numerous visitors, was fitted up for the occasion.  It was nearly full, as Terence was a popular man—­one that didn’t grudge the “bit and sup,” and never turned his back upon friend or foe.  Loud and hearty were the cheers of the delighted tenantry, as the three sons of their beloved landlord passed the threshold.  The appearance of the “stranger” was received with no such demonstrations of welcome; on the contrary, there was a sullen silence, soon after broken by suppressed and angry murmurs.  These were somewhat appeased by one of the sons introducing his “cousin,” and endeavouring to joke the peasants into good-humour, by laughingly assuring them his “reverence” was but a bad drinker, and would not deprive them of much of the poteen; then passing his arm through the parson’s, he led the way, as it afterwards turned out, rather unfortunately, to the top of the barn, and there, followed by his brothers, they took their seats.

The entrance of the Catholic priest (a most amiable man) at this moment attracted the entire attention of the party, during which time Tim Carroll elbowed his way to the place where his master was seated, and calling him partially aside, whispered, “Master John, dear, tell his riverence, Master Richard, to go.”

“What for?”

“Sure, is not he entirely in black?”

“Well, what of it?”

“What of it?  Houly Paul! the likes o’ that!  If my skin was as hard as a miser’s heart, I wouldn’t put it into a black coat, and come to a wedding in it; it’s the devil’s own bad omen, and nothing else!”